


The Something In Between

by preetkiran1016



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Blood and Injury, Hanzo Shimada is Bad at Feelings, Jesse McCree is a Gay Disaster, M/M, Mild Gore, Prophecies, fever dream vibes, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preetkiran1016/pseuds/preetkiran1016
Summary: Prophecies are never meant for mortals.He should've known, really.A deal with the devil would've given him better odds.He’s walked the earth for what feels like eons now, a thousand years slipping through the cracks between his fingers like sand through a clenched fist; flat cupped palms open to the heavens and awaiting salvation.The Gods were never so kind.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	The Something In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ieatgrassalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieatgrassalot/gifts).



**PROLOGUE**

* * *

The small towns he passes through day-to-day are quiet, hushed places.

Then again, that might be because of his reputation.

Despite the technological marvels of the cities, tales of gods and the old faiths had all but fallen out in the years of meccas. Most men hardly spared him a second glance from his shabby pack, tightly wrapped serape, and well-worn chaps.

Hiding a red-tinged gaze in the brim of an old-tattered cowboy hat.

In the wake of wars and famine, no one questioned another refugee.

No one questioned when yet another town was wiped from the map. 

Another battle.

Another disaster.

Always something or other.

The villages knew better. 

They still remembered. 

In the wrath of God's and Cruelty of men, that nothing was safe.

Where myths and legends still spread from mother to child. In hushed bedtime fables and superstition.

More than one curious child being pulled away by panicked fathers and wide-eyed grandmothers.

He’s walked the earth for what feels like eons now, a thousand years slipping through the cracks between his fingers like sand through a clenched fist; flat cupped palms open to the heavens and awaiting salvation.

Gods were never so kind.

The day his eye first gleamed scarlet, he watched the world wash into gray-scale and a feeling of utter silence washed over him.

The order rang, clear as a bell through his soul and deep into his bones. 

A reverberation that superseded all.

_Find our chosen._

It was simple after that.

Following the gods will and finding their lost sheep.

Training them. 

Leading them to the mindset where they could ascend.

And each one glowed that same golden glow. 

Changed. 

Would lose what made them human, shift to Godliness, and ascend to a plane that no human had returned from. 

It made a name for him, whispers traveling the sun beat dirt and making a hermit of him.

It was understandable.

Most people would be wary of a prophet whose very presence foretold disaster. 

* * *

Hanamura’s gates lay in ruin. 

One ornately carved leg lay half-a-mile back down the road, charred and still smoking as he passed. 

Jesse shifted his pack and kept moving.

The surrounding woods shifted, a low breeze rustling through the leaves.

Each step closer to the once prosperous town has dead, yellowed grass crushed under his heel. The trees closer and closer to the town’s losing foliage and bark turning brittle and ashen white.

The last town he passed through felt whispers of static in the air. Of hair raising into the hair and the mere touch of a finger to metal had men falling back to the floor.

Of shaking animals with curling fur and wild eyes running from something unspeakable.

He pushed on.

His bones thrummed, a melody of echoes deep in his blood.

_Find Our Chosen._

It repeats.

Again and again.

 _Find Them_.

He pressed on.

* * *

He found the rest of the gate deep into the forest, on its side and blacked at its stumps. It’s deep, gorgeous carvings marred by dark scorch marks and deep slashes.

Traced the dragons swirling around the column, inlaid with jade and gold and sapphire, sparking in the sunset’s low light.

The cobblestone path clicked under his feet, ash and soot swirling around his ankles. 

As with any village after a catastrophe, the surrounding fringe homes are least touched by the disaster.

Sometimes there're even survivors.

Unfortunately, Hanamura has no such luck. The smell of burnt meat and rotting bodies filling the air.

Silence hangs in the air like a guillotine’s blade, rusted over and ready to fall.

He continues, buildings crumbling apart at the slightest breeze. To a gentle touch.

His hand comes away with crumbing ash as what remained of a storefront crumbles under its own weight.

His face felt tight, static stiff in the air, sticking to his hair and near lifting his hat off his head the closer he stepped to the town square.

The looming ruins of a castle planted in the middle of the city gave him pause.

The smell of electricity stings sharp.

It pulls. 

_Find Them._

He grits his teeth.

The gates of the castle fall apart under his hands, fragile wood splintering to pieces before he steps over the broken remains.

The building around him lay silent. Now tombs for their previous tenants.

Each step felt another weight on his heart. 

He finds the godling in the center of the mansion. (or what was left of it.)

_And Knows._

The New Godling kneels, lips curled and fangs bared in a snarl. Blood-stained lips and glowing blue eyes and hackles raised. Electricity crackling to life around him like a live-wire.

Wrapped in the forms of two glowing, blue, ethereal Spirit Dragons.

“ _LEAVE.”_

Jesse stares.

At the drape of his hakama, his frazzled, tangled hair, and angry tilt of that perfect cupid bow’s.

The angry, weeping wound along a well muscled side, arrow shaft buried deep; chest moving in shallow, gasping breaths. 

At the gaping, snarling maws of the spirits; staring into his soul as if to judge his worth.

And drops his gaze to the charred, unrecognizable body cradled in the Godling’s arms.

Well _shit_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This wonderful work is the brain child of ieatgrassalot and it's so!!!!!!!! AMAZING!!!! I'm so glad we goin at this together! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it! The amazing art is by ieatgrassalot , go check them out!!!! you can find them here on twitter! https://twitter.com/ieatgrassalot
> 
> you can find me at https://twitter.com/preetkiran1016


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